


Peppermint Winter

by RascalJoy (DarkQuill)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: (First two), Batboys, Brobonding, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkQuill/pseuds/RascalJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's first Christmas Eve at the Manor is a little different than expected when a certain Richard John Grayson arrives.</p><p>(Not a song fic, despite the title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peppermint Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from Fanfiction.net.
> 
> Well. This is technically two days late. But hey, it's still close enough to Christmas Eve, right?
> 
> This entire fic is based on the amazing song "Peppermint Winter" by Owl City, inspired by a comment on a certain piece of deviantArt that I will be mentioning later on. It features Jason!Robin, and Dick!Discowing at the point where Dick is still mostly enstranged from Bruce. Took me forEVER to finish, and I obviously didn't finish on time to publish it on the intended date. But hey, Christmastime is for family, and that's who I spent my time with instead of writing fanfiction :)
> 
> IMPORTANT: There will be two epilogue chapters to be posted hopefully within the next twelve days. Keep a lookout for those!
> 
> Hope you all had a blessed Christmas!
> 
> Enjoy the bat bro fluff!

Jason woke to silence. Not oppressive, strangling silence that filled a dark alleyway, but a peaceful quiet that assured him he was safe.

His eyes cracked open, staring at the ornate bedside table with its oriental lamp that came into blurry focus in front of him. Blinking slowly, his vision cleared. Groaning, he tried to sink back into his pillow for just a few more moments, but the last vestiges of sleep flew from his mind as instead, he jerked fully into wakefulness. So much for sleeping in.

Turning over with a grunt, he stared at the drawn curtains over the window, taking in the watery light filtering in around the one end where Jason hadn't pulled the curtains over quite far enough. Jason sat up, yawning as he stretched his arms over his head. No point in staying down so long as he was already awake.

Psyching himself to exit his comfortably warm cocoon, Jason rolled off the bed, kicking his feet out to land on the bare floor and leaving his rumpled covers behind. He somersaulted over the floor toward the curtains and whipped them back. Cold air that had been trapped between the window and the heavy fabric washed over him, combining with the piercing, extra bright sunlight reflecting from the frozen white ground to well and truly drag any thoughts of sleep from Jason's mind. Blinking to relieve the sudden attack to his retinas, it took Jason a few moments to register what he was seeing.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the refracted light, his jaw dropped as he caught sight of the ground.

A thick, white blanket of snow twinkled up at him, stretching endlessly into the tree line a mile or so away. He brightened. There had only been scattered flurries and icy sleet the past few weeks, weather mostly continuing as normal throughout Gotham City; that is to say, it was constantly raining. But this...this was honest to goodness _snow_.

Jason loved snow. It was so pure and clean; innocent in a way he himself wasn't after years fending for himself in the Narrows. Sometimes it reminded him that not everything was entirely screwed in the world.

On the streets of Gotham, the snow was always churned to grey mush within minutes of falling, creating unpleasant melted sludge that liked to soak into the ratty toes of Jason's sneakers and every other shred of clothing it could reach. But here, with acres of open land stretched all around them... The fresh blanket of snow actually stood a chance.

A grin stretching the corners of his mouth, Jason yanked on a pair of jeans, threw on a sweater, and dashed out into the hallway, very nearly crashing into the opposite wall in his excitement. He mounted the banister of the staircase, sliding down the polished wood and somersaulting off the end.

Bypassing the door to the empty dining room, he burst into the kitchen where a certain elderly butler stood stirring a pot of porridge at the stove. "Alfred," he called, "it snowed last night!"

Alfred turned, raising an eyebrow despite the twitching corners of his mouth. "Indeed it did, Master Jason. And I assume you have plans for it this morning?"

Jason blinked, suddenly shy. "Er...yeah. If that's okay," he added hastily.

He was instantly put at ease as the butler gave him a small smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Master Jason. Playing outside is certainly more beneficial than those violent video games your generation is so fond of."

Alfred set a bowl of porridge in front of him, the sweet, tantalizing smell wafting into his nostrils. "There are apple slices and pecans available should you want them, Master Jason," the butler said. "And of course, honey and brown sugar, though I urge you to use them both sparingly."

"Awesome," Jason said genuinely. "Thanks, Alfie." Quickly, he piled on the goodies and tucked in.

The oatmeal was delicious. Nevertheless, Jason scarfed it down as fast as the hot cereal allowed, his eyes fixed on the window where the glittering blanket of snow winked at him tantalizingly in the sunlight.

Bruce was nowhere in sight, which wasn't really a surprise. Patrol had run late last night—as in, Robin was sent home while Batman worked into the shaky sunlit hours of winter "mornings," late—so the chances of Bruce showing his grizzled face any earlier than three o'clock would be a miracle.

Not that Jason was complaining. That meant he had free reign of the Manor grounds; which also meant a few well-placed buckets on certain doorways leading outside. Hopefully the garden hose was still hooked up.

Smirking to himself, he stood from the stool, rinsing his bowl in the sink (every time he tried to do more than that, Alfred would just give him this 'look') and crashed out of the kitchen, pulling on his boots at the mat and reaching to yank open the front door.

"Master Jason, I do hope you aren't planning on going out in that frightful weather without wearing at least a proper jacket."

Startled, Jason whirled around...and blinked in surprise as Alfred held up the fattest, fluffiest, warmest looking coat Jason had ever seen in his _life_. He blinked again, his brain refusing to catch up with his eyes. "Wait, is that for me?"

Alfred raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Considering that this particular size will fit neither Master Bruce nor myself, then yes, I would assume it belongs to you, Master Jason."

"Hehe. Right," Jason agreed, noting the coat's admittedly smaller size.

He tried not to think how many meals he could've bought with the money it took to buy this single winter coat as he uncomfortably allowed Alfred to help him slip into the coat. Hastily, he swallowed the numb lump of guilt in his throat. This was how rich people lived; he might as well enjoy the perks while it lasted.

For a few moments, the fabric of the coat hung heavy and cool on his shoulders as Jason fumbled with the zipper, zipping it up to his chin. And then, a steadily increasing warmth as Jason had never felt before swelled around him, the coat reflecting and trapping his body heat so it was like he was sitting in his own personal furnace.

"Whoa," he breathed, all thoughts of price forgotten. "Thanks, Alf."

"You are quite welcome, Master Jason," Alfred said formally. "We can't have you galavanting about in such frigid temperatures without the proper outerwear, now can we."

"No, sir," Jason agreed, slipping on a woolen skullcap and a pair of gloves that Alfred handed him. Turning again, Jason braced himself for the anticipated cold and whipped open the door of the Manor. Immediately, cold wind blew across his face, brushing over his cheeks and ruffling what hair was left sticking out under his cap as he examined the sight before him.

The porch itself was pretty clear of snow, the shingled canopy above it preventing a majority of the stuff from ever reaching so far as the front door. Everywhere else was a completely different story. The snow presented a solid, twinkling sheet before him, only a few misshapen lumps and grooves where the stairs off the front porch were.

Jason quickly stepped out, closed the door, and half ran to and down the steps. With a deep, bracing breath of the frigid winter air, Jason jumped off the final stair. He watched his boots sink into the patter upon landing, continuing down until he finally stopped on firm ground with snow halfway up his calves. Snatching a handful, Jason squeezed it in his fist, feeling the snow compact and mold to the shape of his hand.

Jason grinned. _This_ was snow you could play with.

He considered his options, taking in the vast expanse of material he had to use. He almost didn't want to disturb it's quiet beauty, but what was the point of snow if you didn't do something with it? First order of business was to figure out where the garden hose was buried, then—

Suddenly, Jason was interrupted from his plots as the door to the Manor thudded open behind him. "Hey, Little Wing!" an overly cheery voice called out.

"Don't call me that," Jason snapped reflexively, whirling around just in time to see a certain Dick Grayson step off the porch. "When did you get here, anyway?"

"Last night," Dick admitted. "Really really late. Or would that be early...?" He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "Huh." The man brightened. "Anywho, Alfie told me you were outside and I figured I'd join you."

Despite his initial annoyance, a flicker of excitement sparked in his chest as the man bounced down the stairs. "Did you now?" Jason said slyly, an idea poking to the front of his mind. "Well, I guess since you're already out here..." He snatched a handful of snow from the ground, compacting it hard with his hands braced against his abdomen, and launched the resulting snowball in the air. It smashed straight into the grinning man's nose.

Dick yelped in shock and surprise, spluttering indignantly. "Hey!"

"Take that, you big oaf!" Jason snickered, already moving down the lawn as another snowball copied the path of the former at the taken aback man.

"Augh!" Dick yelled in mock anger as another layer of snow smashed into his face just as he'd opened his eyes. "You're gonna get it, kid!"

"Gotta catch me first!" Jason quipped.

Roaring dramatically, Dick charged toward him, spinning off three snowballs in rapid succession before Jason could even blink. Caught by surprise, Jason managed to dodge two before the last one slammed into his chest, sending snow splatters across the front of his new coat.

"Hey!" he protested, packing another snowball tightly between his hands. Chucking the four snowballs currently in his arms at Dick's bobbing figure, he football tackled the snow, sinking even as he used his arms to scrape a makeshift barrier together in front of him.

More snowballs rained down on his head as he rapidly piled the barrier higher, constructing it just high enough to crouch behind. It was ominously quiet as he feverishly worked on his pile of ammo—something he'd become very good at in the Narrows—until he had a stack of at least a couple dozen snowballs stacked and ready for use.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jason slowly, carefully, poked his head around the side of his barrier to see what had happened to his opponent. A similar pile of snow to his own greeted him fifteen feet away, a blue scarf flapping in the slight wind on top of it. With a smirk, Jason grabbed one of his snowballs. Judging the direction and strength of the wind from the way the scarf blowed, Jason took aim, wound up his arm, and chucked the snowball as hard as he could.

The missile arced through the air, and Jason watched as it thudded down into the blue scarf behind the fort. And...silence.

A low whoosh echoed behind him, and Jason whirled around just in time to see the scarf's former wearer bearing down on him before he was blinded by the snowball that landed directly between his eyes.

Strong arms caught him around the waist, tackling him into the powdery ground, and Jason spluttered angrily, gloved hands clawing at the figure above him while simultaneously trying to blink the snow crystals from his eyes.

"Gotcha!" that hated, cheerful voice of Dick Grayson crowed.

Still blinded, Jason lashed out toward the source of the voice, hearing a satisfied _SMACK_ as his palmed hand connected with Dick's face. With a cry of pain, Dick instinctively jerked back, leaving Jason's upper body free.

Jason quickly took advantage, sitting up and shoving forward with his arms to push the already off balance Dick violently backward. In seconds, their positions were switched, Dick on his back in the snow with Jason locked on top of him as the snow finally cleared from his eyes. But Dick wasn't defeated yet. Snatching Jason around the waist, he pulled him against him, catching Jason by surprise, and rolled over to the side.

Sensing Dick's intentions, Jason pushed off with his feet to keep the two spinning, rolling over one another in the snow as each fought to gain the upper hand. As they wrestled, Jason managed to figure out which leg was his and which one was Dick's in the massive tangle of limbs, and unhooking it, Jason gave Dick a swift kick to the thigh. They broke apart, landing a couple feet from each other face up in the snow.

A snowball smashed into Jason's snow, and the fight continued, taunts forgotten as the war for honor raged across the front lawn.

By the time the sun reached the peak of its westward journey,, both boys lay sprawled across the trampled lawn, panting from exertion as a combination of sweat and melting snow slid from their warm bodies.

"That...was fun," Dick gasped between breaths.

"Yup," Jason agreed, too breathless to attempt anything more.

After a few minutes, during which they finally managed to breathe normally again, Dick grunted, rolling forward and jumping to his feet. "Ever tried skating on icy pavement?"

Jason frowned. "What?" He sat up just in time to see Dick step out onto the plowed, yet extremely icy driveway of Wayne Manor, skittering the toe of his boot along the surface as if testing its smoothness. Apparently satisfied, Dick put both feet down, sliding them along the surface in a way Jason had seen ice skaters do sometimes along the frozen waters of Gotham Bay.

Within seconds, Dick was spinning in circles on one foot, almost graceful as he glided down the driveway, arms out like a bird and one leg in the air.

Jason stood, brushing the snow from his body as he moved toward the pavement, stepping onto the slippery surface in order to get a better look as Dick did a strange little heel click thing midair and landed perfectly steady on the flawless I've.

"You should try it!" Dick invited, grinning like a maniac as he twirled through the driveway. "It's really not—Oop!" And just like that, Dick slipped on the icy sidewalk, his lips pursed in an 'o' of surprise. The picture of angelic grace he'd painted moments before was shattered as the acrobat's ankles twisted underneath him and he pitched forward. Before Jason could blink, all that was visible of Richard John Grayson was a blue-jeaned bottom sticking up in the air, his upper half completely buried in the snowdrift.

Laughter burst from Jason's chest, loud and echoing in the otherwise silent grounds. Dick's butt wiggled and Jason practically choked on the mirthful screech that erupted from his throat.

"Way...to go... _Grace_ -son!" he managed to gasp between cackles.

The man's hands burst from the pile, scrabbling against the powdery pile as he struggled to pull his face from its confines. A muffled yelp was heard as the elder's foot skittered on the driveway, losing its purchase so Dick fell again face first into the snow.

Jason lost it. Tears of mirth blinkered his vision, his stomach beginning to seize from laughing too hard rather than the hunger pains he'd been used to on the streets. And then Jason was falling, his legs skating against the hard ice from the violent guffaws. Next thing he knew, he'd plopped backward onto the driveway, the force of the impact jarring up his spine and shaking his entire skeleton. But Jason couldn't bring himself to care as Dick's bright red face appeared from the gaping hole, nose streaming blood and snow dripping from his eyelashes to steam against his flaming cheeks. Fresh laughter burst from his lips as Dick finally emerged from his early grave, brushing morosely at the snow that encrusted his entire body.

Dick glared at him from under a—literal—snow hat. "I'd like to see you do better," he challenged. "You didn't even have to take a step before you went and fell on your butt."

"I...wasn't...trying to do...anything," Jason managed around his now slightly breathless giggles. "How...can I...do better?"

Shaking his head in mock disapproval, Dick made as if to say something else when he suddenly seemed to realize his nose was still gushing blood all over his face. "Yuck!" he cried, attempting to stem the flow as he shuffled toward the Manor doorstep. "Dang humidity. I didn't even fall that hard! Be right back, Jaybird, don't go anywhere."

Jason shot upright, eyebrows furrowing as the laughter died in his throat. _"Jaybird?!"_

But Dick had already escaped into the Manor.

Grimacing at his latest nickname, Jason managed to clamber to his feet. Hopefully this one wouldn't stick as well as 'Little Wing' had. But knowing Dick Grayson? He shouldn't get his hopes up.

Not that nicknames were a bad thing. In fact, if Jason had ever had younger siblings, he probably wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to tease them with such devices. As it was, he had to make do with a not-quite older brother that he had only a few choice names for; which didn't affect much since the guy's name was already Dick.

Lost in thought, Jason nearly jumped out of his skin as the door to the Manor blew open behind him, a jovial voice calling out: "It's all settled! We can go. Alfred says we can stay out till dinner."

Rolling his eyes at Dick's usual not-so-explanatory explanations, Jason called: "Go where?"

"Sledding, of course," Dick cried.

Jason blinked. "Sledding? Why?"

Dick gave him a 'seriously?' look. "Uh, because it's fun. Why else?"

"How is sliding down a hill with only a few wooden boards under your butt fun?" Jason challenged.

The elder stared at him. Realization flickered in his eyes. "No," Dick gasped in horror, "don't tell me you've _never_ been sledding before."

"Unless you count riding a garbage can lid down the frozen solid gutter pipe into the not-quite-solid Gotham Bay," Jason snarked, "then no, I haven't."

Dick seemed to consider this. "Actually, that sounds better. Except for the cold, wet aftermath. Well, I promise sledding is not quite as exciting, but definitely less terrifying."

"I don't remember saying it was terrifying," Jason pointed out.

Dick shrugged. "And I never said you did." He dug around in his pocket, eventually pulling out a small rings of keys. A wide grin split his face. "Ready to go?"

Jason shrugged. "You bet."

"There's a great sledding hill a mile or so that way," Dick gushed, gesturing to the left of the Manor. "It's still on the grounds, so it's completely private. No waiting in lines, no dodging kids going the wrong way. We can even take the snowmobile."

"How do you sled the wrong way on a hill?"

"Trust me. You don't wanna know."

Jason frowned. "Fine. But I'm driving the snowmobile."

"Er, I think you still have yet to prove yourself in Batdriving school, buddy."

"So? I already know how to drive. Why do I need a class?"

"How's this," Dick suggested, "I'll drive there, let you play around on it a bit, and if you pass muster you can drive back. Deal?"

The mischievous grin that found its way on Jason's features was wide enough to split his face in two. "Deal."

* * *

 

The drive down to the sledding hill was mostly uneventful. Jason rode behind Dick, arms gripping the man's shoulders for support as they slid and bumped along the snowy ground, sending white sheets of flurries in the air in their wake.

Jason found himself hooked on the view, watching the trees whizz by far off on either side of them as they zoomed through the plain, the air sparkling from the snow flying from the metal runners digging into the packed snowdrifts.

Far too soon, they arrived at the sledding hill. Dick circled around to the right, parking the snowmobile next to the tree line so that the clear expanse they'd just crossed stretched out behind them and the hill towered to their left.

Dick swung his leg over the handlebars, performing an aerial somersault before landing calf deep in snow. "Whoa!" he called, arms windmilling as he barely kept his balance in check. "Careful getting off, Jay. Snow's pretty deep."

"Duly noted," Jason said, bringing his left leg over the machine and sliding down into the snow.

Together, they untied the sled from where it had been bouncing along behind the snowmobile. Jason was glad he'd declined the offer to ride on it on the way here as Dick brushed off the snow that it had gathered in the snowmobile's wake.

Jason didn't realize how tall and steep the hill actually was until they were marching up the side, dragging the sled along behind them through the knee deep snow. After a seeming eternity, they reached the peak, Jason's breath coming in stunted gasps as Dick positioned the sleigh over the lip of the hill.

And that's when Jason saw how high up they were. In all technicality, it wasn't very high at all: three stories maybe, give or take. But as he took in the far too rickety looking boards of the sled, the steep pitch of the hill, and the trees hemming them on all sides except for the strip of clear land they'd just driven through, Jason began to get the slightest bit queasy. There was _no_ way this could end well.

Jason prided himself in never backing down from a challenge, and he certainly had pulled a _lot_ of risky stunts in his relatively short lifetime. However, he didn't have an active death wish. And sliding down a hill at whatever miles per hour with no visible steering in sight certainly counted as potentially self-destructive behavior.

"Do you want front?" Dick asked, stepping back to study the position of the sled. "That way you'll be able to see where we're going and..." He trailed off as he looked back at Jason, and Jason could practically feel the lack of blood in his face right now. "You okay, Jaybird?"

"Don't call me that," Jason snapped irritably, glancing away from the enormous drop in front of him to glare at the elder. "And where's the steering on this thing?"

Dick blinked. "There is no steering."

Panic throbbed in Jason's stomach, and he'd later deny that his voice was slightly shrill as he said: "Oh, so we're just supposed to barrel down this hill and leave our fates to the wind? What if we hit a tree?"

Dick shrugged languidly. "Then I suppose we die."

"Not helping!"

Understanding and sympathy flashed in the elder's eyes, so fast Jason thought he might have imagined it.

"You know," Dick said thoughtfully, "did I ever tell you that for a time I was really scared of falling?"

"No," Jason said slowly, wondering what on earth this had to do with their present situation. "Why?"

"After my parents...fell," Dick continued, wincing a little bit, "I was terrified of meeting the same fate. Still am, in fact."

Jason stared at him, incredulous, yet curious. "Than why—"

"Am I always leaping off tall buildings with a single bound?" Dick finished, a smile poking at the corners of his lips. "It's because I've learned to overcome my fear. Look, my point is..." Jason resisted the instinctive urge to flinch as Dick settled a hand on his shoulder. Brilliant blue eyes shown down at him. "You never know if you can fly, Jay," Dick said, "unless you take the risk of falling."

"Whatever that's supposed to mean," Jason grumbled half-heartedly.

Dick smiled, patting his shoulder. "Just give it a go, eh?"

Jason eyed the steep downward pitch of the hill. "Sure. Whatever."

As he clambered onto the front end of the sleigh, he forced himself to calm the frick down. There was no way this stupid thing was more dangerous than swinging from rooftop to rooftop with only a line and a tiny grapnel to keep you aloft. Parents let their children slide down hills like this all the time. That meant it was one hundred percent safe.

He mentally cursed himself for being such a scaredy cat as he felt Dick settle in behind him.

"You ready?" Dick questioned.

Jason hesitated a moment. "Yeah."

Next moment, Dick kicked off with his feet until they were teetering over the edge, and just like that, they were falling. Well, not falling, exactly; rapid sliding that included the feeling of his innards being left behind was a little more accurate.

Wind whipped through his hair and around his body, making his eyes stream as he squinted through the snow-filled air. Butterflies bloomed in his stomach (how he felt that when he'd left the organ up on the top of the hill, Jason had no idea) and his mouth opened in a silent scream as they swooped downward, his body angled backward to compensate for the steep pitch of the hillside. Behind him, he could hear Dick whooping and cheering, could feel his hands relinquish their hold on Jason's hips and pump in the air.

The terror Jason had felt segued into excitement, a thrill traveling through his spine as his breath was ripped from his lungs at the rapid speed. Before he knew it, a grin was splitting the corners of his mouth, a triumphant whoop escaping his lips as they reached the bottom of the hill, their forward momentum carrying them on for a couple dozen feet before Dick stuck his feet into the snow and brought them to a stop.

For a moment, they say in silence, broken only by their harsh breathing.

"That wasn't so bad," Jason admitted finally.

"See?" Dick said, beaming at him. "What I tell you?" Wriggling awkwardly, Dick managed to pull his legs from Jason's sides, slipping off the sleigh into the snow. Standing, Dick stuck out his hand, grinning lopsidedly at Jason. "Care to go again?"

Jason smirked, barely containing a matching smile as adrenaline pumped through his veins. "Why not?"

* * *

 

By the time the sun was mostly set over the horizon, Jason's nose was dripping snot, his toes stiff and cold under the frosty ends of his boots as he rolled off the sleigh for the upteenth time at the foot of the hill. But Jason didn't give a dime about the cold. This was probably the happiest day of his life (next to his first night as Robin, of course).

Besides, he was used to frost bitten cold. The fat jacket and fur-lined boots he was wearing were certainly an improvement to the tattered hoodie and sneakers he'd donned only so many months ago.

Jason broke from his thoughts as something cold brushed the tip of his nose for just a moment, settling lightly on the tip before melting into a tiny drop of water. Startled, he glanced up at the medium gray clouds that blanketed the Gotham sky. White flecks stood out in stark contrast against that backdrop, floating downward in spirals and loops.

It was snowing.

Jason froze in his tracks, watching as the (beautiful) snowflakes drifted gently down around him, their meandering paths interrupted by the occasional brisk gust of wind. This was the first time it had really snowed this year when Jason was actually outside to witness it. School had kept him locked up during the few scattered flakes they'd had so far this winter, and the meager flakes had always melted long before Jason could escape outside.

There was something about the tranquil movements of the flakes that always captured Jason's attention, relaxing him no matter what was going on in his life. It was almost like a lullaby in a way, if he was really going to get all girly about it; like the purity of the snowflakes would lull him to sleep with promises that maybe someday it would conquer the dirt and muck that caked Gotham's streets.

Jason was so caught up in the dancing flakes, he had no time to react as something tugged at his coat collar, and suddenly, frigid clumps of snow were sliding down his spinal chord.

Yelling aloud in shock and surprise, Jason's back arced against the cold as he jerked around to see Dick cracking up behind him, already backing away. "That's...for laughing...at me earlier!" Dick wheezed. "No more paybacks...or else...you can't drive home!"

"That's not fair!" Jason seethed, shivering as his shirt was soaked from the inside out.

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it's _not_!"

"Yes, it _is_!"

Jason took a steady breath, struggling to keep his rapidly mounting rage under control. _You can get back at him later_ , he promised himself. _Just wait until after you've driven the snowmobile._

"Fine," Jason said, outwardly calm as he started toward the no longer laughing man. However, Jason marched right by him, ignoring the now wary gaze Dick sent him as Jason mounted the snowmobile.

"You coming?" Jason called, inwardly smirking at the fidgeting man. Briefly, he considered cranking the engine and leaving the man behind in a cloud of snow.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dick's stupid smile appeared again as he pulled something from his pocket, jangling the apparently metal objects in the air. "Not without the keys, you can't."

Crap. Jason hadn't thought of that.

Grudgingly, he waited as Dick trudged through the snow toward him, clambering on the seat behind him.

"Okay," Dick said, reaching around Jason to put the correct key in the ignition. "I want you to run a few circles around the green to practice, then head back to the Manor, okay?"

Oh yes. This would do nicely.

Jason turned the key, the smirk he'd been hiding finally breaking onto his face as the engine whirred to life beneath him.

Three...two...

Without warning, Jason gunned the engine, sending the snowmobile lurching violently forward in a curtain of disrupted snow. Ignoring Dick's startled cry behind him, he jerked the vehicle to the right toward the line of trees. However, they didn't head that direction for long as Jason kept the pressure on the steering, turning a tight circle in the clearing.

Reveling in the feel of the humming machine between his legs, obeying his every whim, Jason span several more circles—as directed—then shot off in the direction of the Manor, forcing the snowmobile to ridiculous speeds as the wind ripped at his hair and clothing.

A sound reached his ears, practically swallowed by the wind, and it took a moment for Jason to place it: Dick Grayson's laughter.

Well. Jason couldn't fault him for that one seeing as his own blood was pounding through his veins from adrenaline and excitement.

Adding his own whooping laughter to the mix, Jason revved the engine and steered for home.

* * *

 

Jason and Dick staggered through the doorway of Wayne Manor, cheeks rosy red and melting snow dripping from every crevice of their clothing and bodies. This did nothing to lessen the massive grins on their faces.

"We should do this again next year," Dick chattered as they slipped out of their jackets and boots. "Like, make it a tradition, or something."

"Or something," Jason agreed.

"Let's go see if Alfred's got any hot chocolate," Dick suggested, already heading toward the kitchen in wet socks that squeaked on the polished floor of the entrance hall.

Jason was quick to follow, kicking his last boot into the heap of dripping things on the ground. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw Alfred in the process of pulling chocolate chip cookies from the oven, Dick hovering over his shoulders with puppy eyes as wide as dinner plates. Two steaming mugs of cocoa were on the island, as if Alfred had anticipated their arrival.

"Please, Alfie?" Dick was saying. "Just one?"

"Very well, Master Richard," Alfred said. "But only one. I do not want you to spoil your appetite for dinner."

"Yes, sir!" Dick agreed happily, snatching a cookie straight off the pan. "Hot!" he yelped. As Dick juggled the scalding cookie, Jason stepped forward and, receiving a nod of approval from Alfred, picked a treat that was already on the cooling rack; still warm, but not hot enough to burn.

Smirking at Dick as molten chocolate dripped onto his fingers, Jason hopped onto a bar stool beside the island and pulled one of the cocoa mugs toward himself. After a moment, the elder joined him, staring ruefully at his light pink hands.

"You'd think I'd've learned to wait by now," Dick admitted, dragging the other mug over.

"You would think," Jason agreed, straight-faced.

In the next room over, they heard a creak echo from the staircase. Moments later, the door to the kitchen burst open to reveal the beed rumpled figure of Bruce Wayne. "Alfred, do you have any—" Bruce stopped short, staring at Dick in the same instant that Dick froze like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Jason sipped cautiously at his hot chocolate, watching Dick and Bruce out of the corner of his eyes as they stared at one other, each seeming to be equally struck dumb by the other's presence.

Finally: "Dick," Bruce said by way of greeting, his voice low and flat. His eyes flickered to Jason, asking a silent question. Jason responded with an eye roll (Bruce was being an idiot) and a thumbs up, conveying what Bruce wanted to know: _Dick wasn't mad and he wasn't here to yell at (kill) Jason for wearing the Robin uniform._

Bruce's guard relaxed by way of the slightest drop of his stiff shoulders, his gaze falling back to his first ward.

Dick grinned lopsidedly, though Jason could see the slight apprehension in his eyes at the cold front Bruce was putting up. "Nice to see you, too, Bruce."

There was a tense silence.

"Just hug and make up already," Jason called. "I won't look if it hurts your pride too much, B."

Both men startled, staring at Jason. Obligingly, Jason waggled his fingers. "Yeah, I'm still here."

They hesitated.

"It's..." Bruce appeared to search for the right word. "It's nice to have you back, Dick."

This time, the smile that appeared on Dick's face was one of relief. "Nice to _be_ back. Merry Christmas Eve, B."

"Merry Christmas Eve, Dick."

"Was that so hard?" Jason muttered into his cocoa.

The next few minutes were quiet, but not exactly awkward. Dick and Jason munched on their cookies and drank their hot chocolate as Bruce (still in the sweatpants and tank top he normally wore to bed) bee lined for the coffee machine. Jason could swear he saw Alfred smiling as he pulled out the next sheet of cookies.

However, the silence didn't last long. No sooner had Jason finished his snack did Dick Grayson decide to launch himself off his stool, somehow managing a flip before he hit the tile feet first.

"Now!" Dick shouted, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Who's ready for presents?"

Jason's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Wait, what?" He was getting increasingly annoyed at how frequently he'd been using that question over the course of the day....

"We always open one present each the day before Christmas," Dick explained. "You know, get the ball rolling."

"Oh." Jason tried not to look as awkward as he felt. When his mother was still alive, he never got more than one present—if he was lucky. It's not like his mom didn't want to give him more than that. Life was hard and money was tight, so Jason had come to expect small Christmases. Thinking about all those packages he'd scouted out throughout the Manor yesterday, all with his name on it... Well, it wasn't exactly a familiar (yet not unwelcome) sight.

"Come on, slow poke!" Dick called, grabbing Jason's wrist and dragging him off the stool, out of the kitchen, and into the living room.

Helplessly, Jason staggered after him, glancing back to see Bruce following them with a slightly amused look on his face. Wonderful.

Dick practically threw him onto the couch, bounding to the Christmas tree where four packages were sitting beneath the needled branches.

"Newest family member first!" Dick crowed, pulling a rather big box wrapped in red wrapping and tied with a shiny silver ribbon from under the tree. He dropped it in Jason's lap, then plopped down in front of him, blue eyes watching expectantly.

"So...I just open it?" Jason said carefully.

"No, I want you to eat it," Dick snorted. "Of course you open it! Come on, I want to see your face."

Inwardly shrugging, Jason grasped the edge of the wrapping paper, minutely aware of Bruce settling in the armchair to the left as he yanked the wrapping from the box in two quick strokes. It took a minute to break the tape crisscrossed over the top of the box in a smiley face pattern (really Dick?). He pulled back the flaps, heart thumping in excitement, and...

"No way," Jason breathed. He remembered telling Alfred how much he hated cold feet, but he had no idea the old butler would actually _remember_...

Dozens of knitted socks rested in the box, each with its own unique pattern stitched into the thick, soft material. Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and a plethora of other superhero symbols shone up at him under the twinkling lights of the tree as well as other, not so normal graphics: teddy bears, snowmen, motorcycles, boxing gloves, tumble weeds.... How many patterns did socks come in?

Jason dumped the box onto the floor, counting them and coming up with 45 pairs; enough to wear a different pair every day for a month and a half. "Thanks, guys," he said happily, turning a light blue pair with elephants on it over in his hands. "These are great."

"You are most welcome, Master Jason," Alfred answered.

However, as Jason studied the patterns crisscrossing the socks, he noticed something peculiar. Raising an eyebrow, he picked up a deep blue pair with a familiar red and yellow symbol plastered on the sides. "Wow, B. Superman? Isn't that like, against the rule of rivalries?"

Glancing up, he noticed Bruce's pursed lips, his furrowed brows. Beside his guardian, the aptly named Dick winked slowly, the corners of his lips twitching. Jason snorted back a laugh as Bruce glanced up at his first ward, Dick struggling and eventually failing to keep a neutral expression.

"Wasn't me," Dick managed around an enormous, telltale grin.

Bruce rolled his eyes, apparently well accustomed to the antics of his first ward. "And I'm sure it was Alfred," he said, completely deadpan.

"Guilty as charged, sir," Alfred piped up behind Jason, causing the teen to jump at his unexpected appearance. "I may have cast a blind eye when Master Dick slipped it into the shopping cart."

Dick snickered, stopping as cobalt blue eyes turned back on him. He nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir, that's what happened."

Bruce sighed long-sufferingly: "Dick, you just admitted that it was you who picked it out."

"Did I?" Dick said, unabashed. "Oh well. Me next!" The man watched eagerly as Alfred made his way toward the tree, selecting a rectangular blue box with a gold ribbon from the small pile.

"Wait," Jason said, realizing something. "How did you get Dick a gift if you didn't know he was coming, Alf?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, giving Jason such a stern expression, Jason almost flinched. "I haven't the faintest what you're talking about, Master Jason." But the pleased twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

And with that, he placed the box in Dick's waiting arms. Eagerly ripping through the wrapping, Dick opened the box and his jaw dropped at the contents. "No way," he murmured, mimicking Jason's earlier statement. Reaching into the tissue paper, he pulled out a black uniform with a familiar blue bird painted over the chest, its wings stretching around the shoulders, down the arms, and all the way to the fingertips of the two middle fingers of the matching gloves.

It was a Nightwing costume. A lot less flashy, much more practical looking Nightwing costume than the one Dick currently wore.

Dick glanced up at Alfred, then Bruce. "You actually...I just designed it, I didn't think I'd ever... Wow, guys."

"Don't get too excited," Bruce chided, though his cobalt eyes twinkled slightly. "I just got sick of that flimsy disco outfit you call a uniform."

Dick stuck his tongue out. "You're just saying that because your jealous of my obviously superior sense of style." Laying the outfit on the ground, Dick brushed the blue bird pattern with his fingers. "I might not start wearing it immediately," he admitted. "Still too attached to that 'flimsy disco uniform.' But still..." He smiled at the two older men. "Thanks, B. Alfie."

"You are most welcome, Master Dick," Alfred said, and Bruce gave a low grunt. "Now I do believe it would be Master Bruce next?"

"Yup," Dick agreed, snatching a medium sized black package with a yellow ribbon (haha) and practically throwing it onto Bruce's lap. "I made this one, so you'd better like it."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his first ward. Then, slowly, he began to pry the wrapping paper up from the sides, ensuring not a single tear was made as he worked at the tape holding the paper in place. An eternity later, the top triangle of paper was free on the right side. Bruce repeated the process with the bottom triangle, than turned the package over to do the same to the other side.

"Oh come on!" Dick protested impatiently. "Just rip the paper, Bruce. That's half the fun!"

This time, Bruce raised both eyebrows, and Jason realized that this whole act was just meant to taunt Dick.

"Please?" Dick pleaded, blue eyes going impossibly wide, lower lip sticking out in the slightest of pouts.

Jason looked on in shock as the freaking _Batman_ wilted under Dick's gaze, reaching up and properly tearing the wrapping from the box.

Bruce opened the box, impassive as he stared at whatever was hidden within the crinkled tissue paper. He reached in, pulling out a slim, sort of gun-shaped object that Jason recognized as a slightly different variation of the Batgrapple gun.

Suddenly, Dick's excited expression became anxious. "Do you like it?" he asked. "I know it's not much, but I just figured since you were always complaining about the line occasionally sticking on the recoil that tweaking the loading mechanism might—" He was cut short as Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, yanking the man into a hug.

"I love it, Dick," Bruce whispered, so low Jason almost didn't hear him. "Thank you." Then, as quickly as he'd reeled him in, Bruce released him, leaving Dick kneeling on the floor with a dazed look on his face.

"Alfred's turn," Bruce announced. He glanced at Jason, and Jason's heart sped up a little in his chest as he stood from the couch, slipping around the coffee table and pulling the last gift—slightly lopsided stone grey paper decorated with snowflakes and a white bow—from beneath the tree, nervously handing it to the elderly butler. This was the only present (at least, of the ones opened tonight) that Jason had had a hand in choosing. And considering he was buying for Alfred just made the whole thing more nerve-wracking because it had to be _perfect_.

Alfred accepted the package with a reassuring smile, carefully mimicking Bruce's method of pulling the two paper flaps free on the side. But instead of doing the same to the opposite side, he merely slid the small box from its confines. He pried open the lid, removed a strip of bubble wrap, and finally pulled out a white ceramic mug.

Staring at the words painted on the side, Alfred smiled softly. "Why thank you, Master Jason"—how the heck did the butler know it was from him?!—"I shall certainly endeavor to live up to the title."

"What does it say?" Dick questioned.

Alfred turned the mug, allowing everyone to see the bold black works proclaiming: _World's Best Grandpa_.

"They didn't have any with 'butler' on it," Jason said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I figured that was the next best thing, because...you know."

"Oh, I quite like it, Master Jason," Alfred assured, and Jason's heart lifted. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"That's so sweet, Jay," Dick agreed. Then, almost wistfully: "Wish I'd thought of it."

"Well, now that that's all settled," Alfred said, back to being the formal British butler he was, "I do believe it is long past time for dinner. Master Bruce, if you would please at least put on a proper shirt to wear at the table, it would be very much appreciated." His stern tone brooked no argument, and Jason resisted the urge to gape as Bruce squirmed a bit under Alfred's pointed stare.

"Er, of course, Alfred," Bruce agreed. "Right away."

Well what do you know. Apparently even the Batman had to answer to Alfred.

* * *

 

The evening passed by quickly, dinner filled with lively conversation that carried on to the living room right up to eleven o'clock, at which point Alfred shooed the boys upstairs insisting that 'Santa would not visit unless every little boy and girl was tucked snuggly in bed asleep.'

So that's how Jason wound up in his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to shut down his still wired brain. Weeks of patrol into the wee hours of the morning had completely screwed his sleeping patterns, and he didn't expect to be able to drift off anytime soon.

Nevertheless, his eyes were drooping when a low knock echoed at his door, the mussed face of Dick Grayson peeking around the edge before Jason could do much more than turn his head.

"Hey, Little Wing," Dick whispered, voice carrying in the otherwise silent room. "It's past midnight. Just wanted to say 'Merry Christmas.'"

"Merry Christmas, Dick," Jason agreed, stifling a yawn.

Dick grinned. "Seeya tomorrow, Jay."

Mustering his voice (and swallowing his pride), Jason called out as the door began to close: "Hey, Dick?"

Dick paused, questioning blue eyes peering back at him. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for today." And despite the heat that crept to his cheeks at the admission, Jason meant it. "It was the most fun I've had in...well, probably ever."

Dick smiled softly, saluting with a finger. "Anytime, little brother."

And despite himself, a tiny smile quirked the corners of Jason's mouth as the door clicked closed.


	2. Epilogue One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross posted from Fanfiction.net.
> 
> 1-2-16
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone! Here is the first epilogue (second chapter?) of Peppermint Winter :) Quite longer than I expected, actually. The second one should hopefully be up within the next couple days.
> 
> Thanks so much to all you wonderful people who subscribed, bookmarked, kudos-ed, and commented! You guys are amazing! :) Have some cookies ( : : ) ( : : ) ( : : )
> 
> Enjoy!

 

_Many years later..._

* * *

 

It was midnight sometime mid-December when Jason tripped on the reasonably-sized cardboard box that had been placed outside his front door. Swearing violently, he leapt over the obstacle, steadying himself against the opposite wall before turning to glare at the offender. Quickly, the glare became wary as he took in the plain cardboard—no label, no address, no nothing.

Mysterious boxes delivered in the middle of the night were never to be trusted. Jason knew that from unfortunate experience.

Hesitantly, he crouched by the box, half expecting it to blow up in his face. Then again, since his clumsy, jostling spill over the lid didn't instigate a massive explosion, he could be wrong... He pulled a pocket knife from the deep pocket of his sweatpants, gingerly cutting through the single strip of packing tape stretched down the center of the lid. He opened the flaps, peered inside, and saw...

Holy—

Jason jerked his head up, scanning the hallway for any sign of the person who'd dropped it off. Nada.

Slightly dazed, he hefted the relatively light box in his arms, fumbling his door back open and slipping inside. Locking the door behind him, Jason jogged to his bedroom, switched on the light, and dropped the box on the floor.

Shaky fingers pulled back the flaps once more, picking up a piece of paper laid across the neatly folded pairs of old knitted socks.

 _Dear Master Jason_ , he read silently. _I do hope this letter finds you well. I recently found these while dusting your old room the other day, and decided it was about time that they were returned to their proper owner. Sincerely, Alfred Pennyworth. P.S. Do consider visiting the Manor once and awhile. Though he would never admit it out loud, Master Bruce misses you dearly, as do Master Dick and I._

Jason wrinkled his nose half-heartedly at that. Like Bruce could ever miss him after all that he'd done. But maybe he could stop by and see Alfred sometime...

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Jason returned his attention to the slightly musty contents.

Jason rifled through the box, fighting back a wave of nostalgia as he pulled the pairs of socks out one by one, each with varying levels of wear and tear: the dull red stain on the toe of the sun-covered socks from when he'd spilled some tomato juice on the floor; the tiny hole in the zebra-striped ones where he'd caught them on the sharp corner of the DVD cabinet; the threadbare bottoms of the Batman-themed ones for the simple reason that Jason had worn them the most.

He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, tossing that particular pair under a pile of other Justice League socks; out of sight, out of mind.

There was no way these would fit him anymore. He'd barely reached puberty before he'd...yeah. He had long since outgrown this shoe size. However, most of them were still in pretty good shape... It would be such a waste to just throw them away.

Well. There was only one thing he could do with all these old socks.

Sighing long-sufferingly for the benefit of no one, he started sorting the socks into two separate piles, tossing all of the worn, unwearable socks straight into the trash bin (in the end, only amounting to six unusable pairs; Jason was always careful with his belongings considering he was used to having so few).

All of the superhero themed socks would go to the Replacement, of course. Although, encouraging the teen's fanboy fetish over such memorabilia might not be wise... Whatever. Not Jason's problem. The cuddlier ones patterned with teddy bears and barbed wire and such would go to the demon for the double reason that the son of a Bat liked weird things like that, and would probably blame Dick anyway for giving him the really stupid ones.

Because Jason had no plans on taking credit for this. He just hated wasting anything (due to having a lack of everything throughout his early years) and wanted these treasures from his teens to go to people he knew; not necessarily to people he liked. He was just taking out the garbage.

At least that's what he told himself.

Within an hour, Jason had managed to divide the 35 remaining pairs into two relatively even piles. If worst came to worst and Damian discovered that Tim happened to get the extra pair, he'd probably think it was Dick who was responsible and the Golden Boy would be stuck with the consequences.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Jason rose to his feet. Now all that was left was to deliver them...

~o~

Tim rapidly tapped the keys on his laptop, intent on completing his mission report before the clock struck 2am. It was looking promising. At this rate, he might even be able to make a fresh mug of coffee before he started in on Wayne Enterprise's latest R&D project development budget.

Well, he might've had time; but he knew there was no chance of it when a familiar voice called from the doorway: "Hey, Timmy."

Inwardly sighing, Tim glanced up as Dick staggered into the room, raven hair mussed and blue eyes dulled from sleep. "Hi, Dick. What are you doing up?"

"Water," he sighed around a massive yawn. "Saw the light on and..." He trailed off, eyes suddenly bright and alert as he caught sight of Tim's feet.

Much to Tim's confusion, Dick stared. Blinked. And stared some more.

After a good two minutes, Tim could feel his cheeks beginning to heat up from the unwavering scrutiny. "What?" Tim demanded self-consciously.

"Where'd you get those socks?" Dick blurted finally, eyebrows furrowing over his brilliant blue eyes.

Tim blinked at the seemingly random question, glancing at the knitted socks on his feet. This particular pair had the green lantern symbol on them; worn, but warm. "Er...dunno, actually," he admitted. "They just showed up in my drawer one night. Why?"

Dick nodded a few times, a dazed expression on his face. "Right. No reason, just... No reason."

Tim frowned as Dick staggered from the room, face pale as if he'd seen a ghost. Shrugging, he returned to the screen of his laptop. He'd long ago given up on figuring out what went on in Dick Grayson's head. If it was important, Dick was bound to tell him sooner or later.

* * *

 

Damian sat at his desk in the corner of his bedroom, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he sketched quietly in his sketchbook. Everything had to be perfect, from the bottom to the top. It was _his_ future Batsuit, after all. And that meant every inch of the design had to be worthy of his future occupation.

Damian smirked as he lengthened the ears on his cowl. Excitement bubbled inside him at the thought that this would be him some day; tall, confident, and completely independent of any and all distractions—er, _partners_.

Concentrating as he was, it took Damian several moments to notice the shadow lurking in his doorway. "What do you want, Grayson?"

There was a short pause.

"Ah, nothing, Li'l D," his first mentor said casually, taking a few steps into the room. "Just wanted to see what you were up to." As he drew closer, Damian snapped the book shut, whirling to face the elder.

Dick pouted. "Can't I see what you're drawing?"

"No," Damian snapped irritably. "And I repeat: What do you want, Grayson?"

The elder hesitated. His eyes wandered down under the desk to the floor, where Damian's feet were hidden beneath the thick mahogany surface. Finally, "What kind of socks are you wearing?"

Damian stared in incredulous shock at the ridiculous question. He turned his attention back to his sketchbook. "I fail to see why that is relevant, Grayson."

"I know, I know," Dick said, "it sounds stupid. But just...humor me?"

Knowing that the man wouldn't give up until he had what he wanted and too impatient to try and deter him anyway, Damian heaved an irritated huff, lifting a single foot from the shadows of his desk and holding it up for Grayson's inspection.

The gray rocket ship socks were slightly too big for Damian, and ever since he first saw this and its partners in his sock drawer he had known they'd been worn before. However, the wear and tear was little to nil, so Damian had deemed them acceptable to don on occasion—when no one else was within sight.

Grayson's lack of comment was beginning to become unsettling. For once in his life, Damian himself felt the need to break the heavy silence that somehow a single pair of socks had brought upon the room.

"These are from you, I presume," he said flatly, refusing to let any sappy emotion leak into his voice. "Well, at the very least you could have had the decency to select new ones from the store rather than pull these tattered ones from your own drawer."

"Those weren't from me, Dami," Dick said quietly.

Damian frowned, finally turning to face the elder. "What do you mean they weren't—?" But Dick was already gone.

* * *

 

"Alfred?"

Alfred glanced up from the pot of spaghetti he was stirring on the stove, raising an eyebrow at the hesitant features of his eldest pseudo-grandchild in the doorway. "Yes, Master Dick? Is there something on your mind?"

Dick grinned ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I swear, Alfie, if I didn't know better I'd say you were psychic."

"Well, I can assure you I am no such thing, Master Dick," Alfred agreed, amused at the concept. "I merely like to think of myself as well-learned in the thought processes of raven-haired, blue-eyed young men."

Dick smirked. "I suppose."

"Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?"

Dick hesitated a moment. "Have you heard from Jason lately?"

That finally caused Alfred pause, the steady turning of the ladle ceasing even as Alfred's heart sank within him. Carefully, he asked, "No, I have not. Whatever gave you that idea, Master Dick?"

Sensing the guarded tone of Alfred's voice, Dick shrank slightly in his seat. "It's just...just that... Tim and Damian are wearing his socks and I can't figure out where they got them from," he admitted in a rush.

There was a short pause.

"I see," Alfred said slowly. "I regret to inform you that I have not physically seen Master Jason in a very long time."

"Oh," Dick said, not-quite concealed disappointment and confusion leaking into his voice. "Well, thanks, Alfie."

He turned to leave.

"However," Alfred called, never one to lie to his charges (mislead maybe, but never lie), "I may know where he's chosen to bunker down these last few months. I delivered some... _items_ there a couple short weeks ago."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred could practically see the gears turning in his second ward's brain.

"Okay," Dick said slowly. "Thanks, Alf."

Before Alfred could finish his proper, "You are most welcome, young sir," Dick was gone.

* * *

 

Dick paced his bedroom, his thoughts a whirlwind as he tried to add up what he'd seen with his own eyes.

Damian and Tim. Wearing very familiar socks with very familiar patterns, and the occasional very familiar hole or stain in the weaving. But it couldn't be possible. It had to be some freak coincidence.

But coincidences didn't add up to such a perfectly fitting conclusion.

Those were Jason's socks. The one's Dick and Alfred had spent hours picking out, the ones they'd presented to him on his very first Manor Christmas Eve. He could still remember Jason's expression, the way his entire face had lit up, his eyes brightening and crinkling under the pressure of his enormous, glittering smile upon opening the box...

How had they ended up in the hands of the two youngest? Surely, Alfred wouldn't have given them away. The memories would have hurt too much. And Damian may not be below snooping around and taking them for himself, but Tim certainly wouldn't... Especially since last Dick knew the socks had been in Jason's room—a definite no-no area for all occupants of the Manor sans Bruce and Alfred.

That left him with one option: Jason had somehow reclaimed the socks, and for whatever reason decided to pass them down.

Alfred's comment about "items" confirmed it. He must have dropped them by Jason's apartment when he went on his biweekly grocery trip. And from there...Jason had pulled a hand-me-down?

All these contradictions were starting to make Dick's brain hurt.

He shook his head, driving the confusing thoughts from his mind. No matter the how or the why; it was impossible to figure out what went through Jay's head these days. No, the only thing Dick could do was to figure out how to react to this surprising turn of events. Ignore it? Tell the younger boys exactly what was on their feet? Burn the evidence?

...Reciprocate?

A small smile quirked at the corners of Dick's mouth. Jason had loved those socks. The only reason he would have gotten rid of them was because he had to, not because he wanted to. Jason must have found out they were now too small for him. (Which made sense considering he'd gone from being a whole foot shorter than Dick to a couple inches taller than him after his...absence.)

And one thing Dick knew for sure: Jason hated cold feet.

~o~

Tonight was one of those nights where nothing seemed to want to go right.

Jason had found that out pretty quick during the first hour of his patrol. Attempting to stop a mugging only to get the victim shot in the gut wasn't exactly a very heroic rescue attempt. Despite the fact the man would live, it still left a sour taste in his mouth. His next good deed of the day didn't go over well with the area's current drug lord, and Jason barely escaped from the warehouse with his dignity (and not much else) intact. However, Jason decided it was time to call it quits after his grapple line snapped mysteriously halfway through a leap, giving Jason barely enough time to snatch the fire escape before he face planted a building.

There really was no way around it. Tonight was just a really sucky night.

He crawled through the dirty window of his apartment, utterly exhausted as he fumbled to close the crumbling frame. Staggering tiredly to his bedroom, Jason stripped off various pieces of his uniform as he went, leaving a trail of leather and weaponry all the way to his dresser.

The plan? Shower, food, then bed. Assuming he could fall asleep, anyway. The grainy itch behind his eyelids every time he blinked practically guaranteed a sleepless night.

Pale moonlight shone through his window, illuminating the contents of his top drawer as his scarred hand groped for a fresh pair of underwear. He frowned when all that his hand came in contact was thick, soft lumps that had mysteriously appeared between now and this morning, burying all of his long johns. Annoyed, he snatched one of the offenders from the drawer, shuffling to the window to better examine the item in his hand.

Highlighted in the blue-ish light was a pair of bright red knitted socks. Jason stared at the familiar W-shaped golden wing pattern on the side, uncomprehending as his brain refused to catch up with his eyes.

These were...his Wonder Woman socks?

No. They couldn't be. These were brand new, unused, and definitely bigger than his first pair had been.

Stunned, Jason returned to his drawer, staring at the balls of knitted objects that burst from the opening, spotting several familiar patterns and a couple new ones, too. There weren't as many as he'd first had. But that didn't matter to him.

Unbidden tears welled up in his eyes as he reverently stroked the soft material, old childhood memories that he'd actively suppressed for years crawling back into the light.

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and Jason whirled around just in time to see a flash of blue and black outside his window before it disappeared into the night.

Despite himself, a watery smile quirked at the corners of Jason's mouth. "Thanks, Dickiebird."


	3. Epilogue Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross posted from Fanfiction.net.
> 
> 1-9-16
> 
> Aaaaaand, here it is! The last chap of "Peppermint Winter"! :D
> 
> This was completely inspired by vgmondo's hilarious, adorable fan art "snowy days" on deviantArt. Check it out! The first chap was inspired by Ghyst's comment to that same fanart, accurately pointing out the hilarious similarity between the action depicted in the picture and a certain lyric verse in Owl City's song "Peppermint Winter."
> 
> I meant to add Bruce, but unfortunately he didn't fit with the theme I had going in this last chapter. Sorry! :(
> 
> Thanks once again to all you amazing people who have reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story! You guys truly are amazing.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jason was having a bad day.

Of course, every day tended to qualify as a bad day for him nowadays. That was the new normal. But today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

What was today? December 24. Aka, Christmas Eve.

Just the thought of it sent Jason's stomach churning with a strange mixture of disgust and nostalgia. Jason hated Christmas, for a variety of reasons. It didn't help that his last several holidays he'd spent in a skull pounding hangover from drinking himself into a stupor the night before, cellphone locked in the closet on silent even as the screen lit up from his stupid predecessor's repeated texts and call attempts.

This Christmas wasn't going to be any different.

Who cares if it was self-destructive. Jason lived alone, was a legal adult (also legally dead), and was (barely) past the drinking age. He had every right to do whatever he wanted for Christmas, and if that included destroying several thousands brain cells, so be it. He'd already died anyway; what else was there to fear?

Jason trudged down the streets of Gotham with his hands stuffed into the deep pockets of his leather jacket, burying his nose in his hot rod red scarf (hey, he had a color scheme) and actively suppressing any and all memories of better, happier holidays.

Later, he would blame his pathetic funk for not noticing the man ghosting along the sidewalk behind him.

Déjà vu washed over him during the next few seconds as a hand tugged at the collar of his coat. A ball of freezing cold crap (er, _snow_ ) was shoved against the hot skin beneath, icy tendrils of the rapidly melting snow running down his now arching spine. With a cry of surprise, Jason whirled around, spotting a familiar figure darting down the sidewalk, a shock of raven hair visible over the edges of a brilliant blue scarf. Equally familiar laughter echoed back at him.

Jason swore violently at the man's retreating back. "Dick, you freaking—! You're going to pay for that, screw you!"

The only answer was another mad cackle, followed by the revving of a motorcycle engine.

Any other day Jason would have let it go. Oh, he would've gotten his revenge of course, but he would've taken his own sweet time doing it; which served the double purpose of giving him time to perfect his plan, _and_ keeping the intended victim on edge. But today already sucked enough without the help of the Golden Boy, and that snowball was the last straw on Jason's rapidly thinning patience. And that patience just snapped.

Vision tinged red with fury, Jason darted for his own bike in the next alley over, mounting it quickly and cranking the key. The motorcycle roared to life between his legs, but instead of reveling in the wonderful sound of a purring engine like he usually did upon starting his baby, Jason kicked off in a blind rage, screeching after Dick as the older man pulled out of an alley a couple blocks down and turned out onto the street.

It was a wild chase through the streets of Gotham, cars and road signs whizzing by as the two bikes weaved through traffic, motors pushed to the limit as Jason fought to catch up to his traitorous older "brother."

Finally, they zoomed through the seedier districts into Gotham's outskirts, and it became a flat out race through the countryside.

Jason dimly recognized the familiar sights of a path he hadn't traveled in years, a path he had once known and loved, but was distracted again as Dick glanced over his shoulder at him. A pink tongue stood out against the flushed cheeks and Jason roared with anger as Dick turned down a driveway.

Skeletal trees lined the sides of the path as Jason's tires scrambled for traction, forcing him to focus more on steering than chasing as his bike threatened to tip out from under him at the aggressive turn.

Finally regaining his balance, Jason shot up the slight incline. Triumph swelled inside him as he gained ground on his attacker. It took him a moment to realize that Dick had actually started slowing down, Wayne Manor looming large before him.

It didn't really matter considering Jason was already in the air.

With a roar, Jason tackled the other man from his bike, sending both of them flying into the eight inches of snow blanketing the massive lawn. Jason had momentum and direction on his side, landing on top of his predecessor so Dick gave a startled _oof!_ as Jason quickly trapped the acrobat between his legs.

Snatching a convenient handful of snow, Jason wasted no time cramming it into the freaking jerk's face.

Brilliant blue eyes stared up at him, rimmed with little piles of partially melting snow. That stupid, trademark grin stretched across the elder's face, giving him the appearance of a strangely deformed snowman. "Gotcha."

Jason stared. Was Golden Boy _blind_?! "Last I checked, _I'm_ the one on top, _Dick_ ," he hissed.

The infuriating smile only widened.

Growling in rage, Jason reeled back his fist, intent on cleaning the idiot's clock with a little more than a few snowflakes.

"Well, would you look at that. He actually did it."

Jason jerked at the sound of the new voice, looking up to see the slight figure of Tim Drake standing a few feet away, a tiny, scowling demon at his side.

"You know, Dick," Tim said, a bemused expression on his face, "when you said you were going to get Jason here, I didn't know it was at the expense of your face."

"I know, it's such a heavy price to pay," Dick sighed dramatically. Nevertheless, that never ending smile poked at the corners of his lips again. "But totally worth it."

"Tt. You're an idiot, Grayson," Damian interjected.

"Wait," Jason said, realization dawning on him. "This whole thing was _planned_?!"

Damian snorted derisively. "You just figured that out now, Todd? You've even duller than I remember."

If he wasn't so confused, Jason might have provided a snappy retort to that less than flattering comment. As it was, he could only blink owlishly as a familiar British voice rose from the porch: "Master Jason, I do hope this means you will be staying for dinner."

Jason glanced up, staring at the quite unruffled, ever proper British butler standing just outside the doorway. He glanced down. Hopeful blue eyes peered back up at him.

Immediately, Jason's mouth opened to decline in a not very nice way when a polite, yet foreboding 'ahem' echoed in the otherwise silent landscape. His eyes again rose to meet Alfred's steely gaze.

And shoot, you just can't say 'no' to _Alfred_.

Jason deflated under the butler's cold stare. "Um...sure, Alf. But just dinner," he added hastily as Dick cheered, attempting to tackle him in another hug despite his prone position. "I'm not staying over."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, giving Jason a knowing look as a pleased smile quirked at the corners of his lips. "Of course, Master Jason. I'll be sure to prepare a guest room for you as well."

Dang it. He should've seen that coming.

"Yay!" the big oaf beneath him yelled, and suddenly Dick bucked under him, two booted feet coming into Jason's vision as they wrapped around his neck. Next moment, Jason was spluttering as snow caved in around his head, 200-pounds of acrobat squatting on his chest as their positions abruptly reversed. "Sleepover!"

"Gerrof!" Jason growled, wriggling under the man's weight.

Dick surprisingly obliged.

Clambering to his feet, Jason brushed the snow off his jacket. He shot a wicked grin at his mildly amused replacement still standing a safe distance away. "Guess you're stuck with me, Timbers."

Tim raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Oh no, whatever will I do? I know..." In a blur of motion, Tim scooped up a handful of white powder at his feet, compressing and throwing in one fluid movement.

Jason ducked. But unfortunately, he was dealing with the World's Second Greatest Detective: the snowball creamed his face anyway.

"Hey!" Jason barked.

"And history repeats itself!" Dick crowed, picking up a snowball of his own and charging into battle.

Despite himself, a grin poked its way onto the corners of Jason's mouth as Dick attacked an unsuspecting Damian, Tim already reeling from a fresh snowball to the face. As he snatched up a handful of snow, filling his arms near to bursting with ammunition, one final thought crossed Jason's mind before he barreled into the fray: _Looks like it'll be a Merry Christmas after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very nearly had a full out snowball fight between the Batboys at the end, but then it started growing too long considering I want this to be short and sweet. Maybe I'll finish it and release it as a one-shot sometime this month, but no guarantees since life is starting to grind back into gear again.
> 
> Have a wonderful 2016!


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